


carve a name

by DaughteroftheCosmos



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (fanon typical elias worshipping jon ofc), (rape/non-con tag more dubcon but warned just in case), Blindfolds, Blood Kink, Body Horror, Compulsion, Dubious Consent, Hair-pulling, Kinda, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, M/M, Mirror Sex, Praise Kink, Too many eyes, Under-negotiated Kink, Worship, and also overtones, as in not negotiated, but hes into it dw, really just tones, very, with heavy beholding-y undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 17:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21413995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughteroftheCosmos/pseuds/DaughteroftheCosmos
Summary: Jon jumps to feel warm fabric press against his leg, and settles as Elias places a hand on one of his still open thighs, likely standing close between them. Part of him cannot help but strain forward, but as his chest lifts high and desperate it meets a sharp, sudden pain.Crying out, Jon flinches away from the contact, light enough not to break the skin but sharp enough to feel the potential. Elias chuckles at the response, and as Jon still shivers from the unexpected pain he feels the cold, sharp press of metal again against his flesh. He stills, barely breathing, as Elias lightly drags the object along his chest.“It’s time now to be very good for me, My Archivist. You are already so lovely,” and Jon gasps as metal breaks skin, “but now you will be mine.”
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 33
Kudos: 187





	carve a name

**Author's Note:**

> hi im new here (long time listener first time fic writer) and of course my first work in this fandom is. absolutely filthy. please forgive me, or dont, or join me in this hell, whichever you prefer :)
> 
> comments and kudos always appreciated! please let me know if theres anything else i should tag. also, first time writing smut so apologies if anything feels off.

Jon was nervous even  _ before _ Elias retrieved the soft, silken blindfold from a drawer, and so as Elias’s hands tie it firmly behind his head, he feels a shiver run down his spine. Elias finishes the knot, and slides his hands around to cup Jon’s cheeks, gentle and warm. “You look so lovely like this, Jon,” he says, rubbing circles into Jon’s cheek with one thumb, and Jon shivers again at the praise. “Are you ready to be good for me?”

“And ‘good’ entails what, exactly?” he demands, a hint of static in his shaky voice. In response, Jon feels a puff of warm breath against his face, and one of Elias’s hands moves from his cheek to press a thumb against his lips. Jon keeps his mouth shut as Elias rubs softly against the skin before removing his hands entirely and stepping away. 

Jon can’t tell where Elias has gone until he feels gentle pressure behind him, what must be Elias’s hand resting against his back. “Come, Jon,” he says, before leaning forward to gently kiss the back of his neck, “this way.”

With a kind but firm pressure, Elias’s hand commands Jon forward, and so he begins to walk, Elias maneuvering him out of the room and into what must be a hallway. He can  _ feel _ Elias’s eyes on the back of his head, guiding him. Though maybe those are just the eyes he can always feel, the ever-present gaze of The Watcher burning into his skin, stronger now with his own sight removed. He feels heady thinking about it- barely a few touches and he’s already so far into his own head.  _ Elias hardly even needs to be here, _ he thinks with half-joking sarcasm.

And with that thought comes a sharp tug to his hair, Elias’s hand snaking up to firmly grasp the strands until Jon gasps, footsteps stiling at the pain. “That’s going a bit far, don’t you think?” he asks sweetly, and Jon swallows, saying nothing. 

Another sharp tug sends sparks through his scalp, and he cannot stop the moan that escapes him. “I- I don’t know,” Jon begins, his voice scratchy but confident, “is it?” he questions, words now thickly laced with the static of compulsion, just to feel Elias shudder against his back.

“Very good, Jon,” Elias breathes, “you’ve gotten much better at that.” He does not, however, remove his hand from Jon’s hair, and as he begins walking Jon realizes that he means to lead him the rest of the way by his scalp. Jon shudders but continues, every step sweetly stinging until he hears the sound of a door opening and feels Elias remove his hand and step away. 

Jon stumbles for a moment before Elias grabs him by the wrist and leads him into the room. They stop a few paces in, and Jon can feel something soft against his legs. “Sit down now, my Jonathan,” Elias says, and Jon complies, moving with stuttered motions to sit into what he believes to be a soft, spacious chair. “Perfect,” he hears, and twists in his seat just a bit.

“I’ve hardly even done anything,” he snaps, embarrassed at the arousal nonetheless pooling in his core.

“That can be rectified,” comes smooth and smug from above, and Jon flinches slightly as warm hands fall soft onto his shoulders before coming down to tug at the buttons of Jon’s shirt. Jon lifts his arms to help only for Elias to press them firmly down by his sides. “Keep these here for me, Jon.” 

When he tenses his arms but keeps them by his side he is met with a “very good” as Elias continues to work at Jon’s shirt, slowly making his way down Jon’s chest. Each light touch against his chest inspires more heat, and as he feels the fabric of his shirt part from the center and teasing pressure against his nipple it takes all he has not to shudder.

Eventually he does have to move his arms to pull them through the sleeves, and does so hesitantly as Elias begins to work at undoing Jon’s trousers. Jon feels warmth flood his face as he sits up enough for Elias to pull his trousers and pants down, revealing a cock already half-hard. Jon’s hips buck slightly as Elias’s hands brush it while pulling the fabric down, but Elias merely finishes removing his clothes and pushes Jon firmly back into the seat. 

For a time, then, there is nothing, only the sound of Jon and Elias’s breathing as Jon feels Elias’s eyes roam his body. Jon wants to move, to cover himself, to stop those eyes from seeing every mark on his scarred form, and twitches at the desire, but keeps himself still. “You’re doing so perfect, My Archivist, you look so lovely and helpless like this,” Elias half-purrs, as if aware of Jon’s hesitance. “So good for me, open and exposed.” 

At this, Jon feels Elias grab the hands that are settled anxiously in his lap and pull them around and behind his back. “What are you doing?” he snaps full of static, and as Elias shivers he tugs hard, pulling Jon forward in the chair and allowing Elias the room to wrap a soft rope around his wrists, binding them together. “Only making sure you stay good for me, My Archivist. I won’t need your hands tonight.” Jon shudders but does not attempt to struggle against the bonds, and after Elias is done tying the rope he shifts back into the chair. 

Jon struggles to hear Elias, trying to determine his actions. Only the light and subtle sounds of shifting fabric meet his attempts, giving no answer. He doesn’t want to give Elias the satisfaction of asking what he plans to do, so he remains silent, as if not whatsoever anxious about whatever it is Elias will choose. Finally, Jon feels hands pulling at his thighs, as Elias says, “spread these for me, Jonathan. Let me see you. Let me see all of you.” 

Jon shudders at the sound of his full name on Elias’s lips, and with firm pressure guiding him he opens his legs, vulnerable and shameful. “You should see yourself now, Jon, already so debauched. You look filthy, absolutely beautiful. You’re doing so well.”

At this it seems again Elias is content merely to  _ observe _ , and Jon cannot help but crave more contact. Elias’s hands, his mouth- Christ, he hasn’t even been  _ kissed _ yet and he’s already desperate for it. 

As sudden as the thought, Jon starts at the press of a mouth against his, and he opens his mouth, moaning into the kiss. He struggles to remember to breathe through his nose, too distracted by the urge to tange his hands into Elias’s hair and deepen the kiss ever further, only to be foiled by the ropes binding him. Elias moves to bite sharp against his lip, while he brings one hand down between Jon’s still-spread thighs to tease at his entrance, before trailing up to brush feather-light against his straining cock. Jon whines low, yearning for more contact, but the hand quickly moves away, leaving him aching and bereft. Elias breaks away from his mouth, and Jon feels kisses pressed wet and warm against his neck, teeth and tongue and spit. Jon leans into the sensation, and the warmth moves to bite sharp and sweet against his earlobe. 

“So lovely for me Jon, you’re doing so good. Such a beautiful cock,” Elias murmurs into his ear. “You fill it so nicely for me.” What must be Elias’s nails drag quick lines across his chest, before tracing down to scratch rough along his thighs. 

“Oh God,” Jon manages, face red and voice choked at the comment. 

“Not quite, but I appreciate the compliment,” and Jon can almost _ feel _ the smug grin on Elias’s face at that  _ horrible  _ joke. He opens his mouth to protest when he suddenly feels a warm, firm grip around his cock and all he can do is moan, pushing up into the contact. 

“What do you want, Jon?” he asks, jacking Jon off with slow and confident strokes. “Do you want your cock in my mouth, or mine inside you?” Jon can barely think past the pleasure of finally,  _ finally _ having Elias touching him properly, and so when he opens his mouth to respond he realizes he doesn’t have an answer. Elias pulls his hand from Jon’s straining cock and Jon lets out a cry, desperate for more. When he hears something  _ thud _ in front of him, a warm breath on his thighs, he realizes Elias has answered his own question. 

Jon sobs at the feel of a wet tongue slowly dragging along the underside of his cock, and helplessly strains for more contact. He feels as Elias reaches up and firmly presses Jon’s hips into the cushion of the chair, and then the sharp pain of Elias biting into the inside of his thigh. “None of that,” he whispers against the bruised skin, before continuing to work at the bite with teeth and tongue until even the press of his hands can barely keep Jon’s desperate squirming at bay. He removes both hands and mouth before returning his attention to Jon’s cock, sucking lightly on the head without maintaining the pressure on Jon’s thighs.  _ Be good for me, _ Jon thinks, and flexes his wrists and fingers at the effort of keeping still for Elias, body taut like a rubber band. 

Elias continues to tease at the head, and it is minutes before he finally, slowly moves down, Jon shuddering at the wet warmth of Elias’s mouth. A hint of teeth has Jon let out a sharp cry, as Elias worshipfully maps the length of him. Without sight, the sensation feels so much more intense, and he feels perilously close to coming already. 

Right at the precipice, Elias pulls away, evoking a strangled cry from Jon’s mouth. He breathes fast and hard, bucking his hips once before remembering the unspoken rule and stopping, straining against his desire. “Such a pretty thing,” Elias murmurs against Jon’s cock, “if only you knew how lovely you looked, My Archivist.”

With that, Jon hears fabric rustle as Elias seems to stand again, and then footsteps as he heads away from Jon to another part of the room. He hears the sound of a drawer opening, and then a bit of rustling, before Elias seems satisfied and he hears the drawer close. Before the footsteps approach again, however, he hears a sharp intake of breath. “My Jonathan. You kept yourself open for me,” he hears, and realizes that in his deep arousal he did not even consider closing his legs to conceal himself again. A flush shudders through him, and his thighs twitch, but he does not move them. 

Footsteps approach now, faster than they departed. “Perfect, so very lovely, and all for me. I’m the only one who gets to see you like this, aren’t I? The only one who knows how shameless you can be? What a lovely slut you make, my Jon.” Jon can feel his head spin at the praise, and though part of him is ashamed of his wantonness a much larger part feels the twitch in his cock and  _ wants. _

Jon jumps to feel warm fabric press against his leg, and settles as Elias places a hand on one of his still open thighs, likely standing close between them. Part of him cannot help but strain forward, but as his chest lifts high and desperate it meets a sharp, sudden pain. 

Crying out, Jon flinches away from the contact, light enough not to break the skin but sharp enough to feel the potential. Elias chuckles at the response, and as Jon still shivers from the unexpected pain he feels the cold, sharp press of metal again against his flesh. He stills, barely breathing, as Elias lightly drags the object along his chest. 

“It’s time now to be  _ very _ good for me, My Archivist. You are already so lovely,” and Jon gasps as metal breaks skin, “but now you will be  _ mine. _ ” 

What Jon assumes to be a knife cuts into his skin and drags a long, slow line down his shaking chest. As it exits the skin he lets out a low moan, sharp pain burning behind the mark. Trembling, he struggles not to flinch, fearful that any unexpected movement might make Elias cut too deep.  _ What are you doing? _ he wants to ask, but something in him stops the words short of reaching his mouth. 

More cuts join the first, carving a pattern Jon cannot begin to fathom the shape of. With each new line of bright, piercing pain, he feels himself slip further and further away, hardly aware of the moans and cries escaping his lips. Tears stream down his flushed cheeks, chest heaving as he struggles to breathe. It hurts  _ so much _ , and he is not given the change to acclimate, each cut simply adding to the agony. It hurts  _ so much _ but he has never in his  _ life _ more wanted to come, never in his life felt so painfully and deeply aroused.

As he cuts, Elias murmurs sweet and filthy nothings that go straight to Jon’s cock. “You should see yourself, Jonathan, you look so perfect, screaming and bloody. You bleed so well for me, cut open so nicely. So lovely with my marks covering you, my teeth in your neck and your cock so red and full, you were made to be mine, My Archivist.” He punctuates this with a final cut, sharp and cruel, before running hands along the deep and bloody lines across his chest, smearing blood and tears and sweat into the already stinging cuts.

In that moment Jon wants, wildly, more than anything, to Know what he looks like, to See what Elias has been whispering in his ear, to tear off the blindfold covering his eyes and witness the debauched picture he must be making. He wants to see Elias’s hungry eyes, the blood that must be now covering his hands, with a desire so deep it hurts more than the lines that litter his body. He struggles against the ropes that bind his wrists, mindless pleas laced with compulsion for Elias to release the blindfold spilling from his bloody, bitten lips, but Elias only chuckles, dragging his hand down Jon’s exposed chest and pressing firmly on one of his deeper cuts. “You must try harder than that, My Archivist, if you  _ really _ want to Know.”

And so, suddenly, Jon does. 

Below where Elias’s thumb still presses into his chest, Jon feels something in his flesh twist and pull and  _ stretch.  _ Elias shifts his hand and still Jon feels something move and peel and tear at the already broken skin. Jon is panting, breathing hard and fast, terrified and euphoric, as something pushes through the hole in his body and he

finally

Opens His Eye.

The light from the room hurts his fuzzy, unclear vision, and he strains to close the new, glistening eye, dripping blood and fluid. He feels the skin  _ blink _ around the opening, shocking him enough to open the eye again, only to see Elias staring deeply into it. His face takes up all of Jon’s vision, and he cannot bring himself to look away from the worship he sees within Elias’s gaze. “Beautiful,” Elias whispers softly, and bends down to press his lips to the new pupil, his own eyes fluttering shut. Jon shudders at the feeling; still, he does not close the eye, and something within him thinks  _ it feels like rapture _ . 

Just as suddenly as the first, another sharp pain blooms beneath his ribs, and then another nearer to his stomach. As if the first eye was nothing but a catalyst, more and more eyes begin to open across his body like a tidal wave. They press unstoppably through his skin, each blinking at the light of the room and straining to focus. Jon cannot stop his screams, as tears of pain fall anew from his eyes and leave streaks below the blindfold. It feels for a moment like the worms that burrowed into his skin all those months before, but at this thought something deep within him recoils. It is  _ nothing _ like that corruption, what he is becoming is holy and beautiful, and Jon floats atop the pain and worship until the final eye blinks open, all peering at Elias’s startled form.

Elias looks  _ broken _ , messy with blood and sweat and absolutely enraptured with the way Jon’s eyes all follow his. Jon quickly catalogues as much detail as he can, from the sharp and bloody knife Elias still clutches in his right hand to the straining of his cock against the front of his trousers. But it is what is  _ behind _ Elias that makes Jon truly catch his breath.

In an enormous, lavish mirror, stretching high towards the ceiling, Jon can see himself, fully and completely, and it is more than he thinks he can bear, and exactly what he craved. There are patterns carved into him, swirling beautiful shapes, with eyes open along bloody cuts, stinging lines that pain and claim him. He is broken down and remade in whatever image Elias wants- despite himself, he cannot help but admit: it is  _ beautiful _ . He blinks- and blinks and blinks, and feels helpless in the headiness of what he cannot help but witness.

Elias’s voice cuts through the fog, as if anticipating precisely the moment where it all becomes too much- and then striking. “Shameless,” he murmurs, gentle and cutting all the same.  _ Yes _ , Jon thinks desperately, and the smile that grows on Elias’s face means it must have been loud enough to hear. 

“Lovely,” he says, louder now, and Jon looks at Elias now kneeling on the floor and looks at himself broken and bloody in the mirror and thinks  _ Yes. _

“ _ Perfect,”  _ Elias breathes, “my perfect Archivist, look at you.”  _ Yes, yes, yes _ , he thinks, a litany coming from within and without, from Jon and Elias and something else, something beyond, something Watching. “Look what you can become, look at what you are. You’re the Archivist, My Archivist, more than human and sacred for it. Most beautiful covered in blood and tears and Seeing it all, seeing exactly what you are. You love it, don’t you? I know you must, how could you not?” 

Sweet rapture fills his lungs as the worship spilling from Elias’s lips enters them, and he bathes in the feeling. He feels  _ resplendent _ , awash with power, and he thinks wildly that this must be how a butterfly feels, after spending so many days knowing nothing but the life of a caterpillar. His eyes blink and twitch and follow the images of his body and Elias’s and the air itself seems to shift its gaze towards both, until even Elias shivers under the weight. Something builds and builds in his mind and he opens his mouth to let the feeling free. 

“ ** _Touch me,”_ ** he demands, and the air convulses with the force of the static in his voice. Elias gasps, loud and broken, whines low and vulnerable in his chest before leaning in helplessly to take Jon’s cock deep down his throat.

Only a few thrusts into Elias’s mouth and he’s gone, dam in his mind breaking in time to the one of his body, and for a few long, blessed moments, his vision whites out, and everything is totally silent.

When his vision finally clears, he opens his eyes to see Elias still on his knees, cum dripping from his lips and smeared across his face. He is shaking with a twin desperation to Jon’s, before he notices Jon’s many eyes watching him again. He stands slowly on shaking legs, little gasps and murmurs escaping him as he desperately pulls down his zipper and releases his cock.

Just a few strokes and he too is finished, cum streaking hot and white along Jon’s bloody, stinging chest. Some of Jon’s eyes close at the assault, and as Elias’s breathing slows, Jon notices they do not blink open again. 

Something shifts in the air once more, and Jon feels the rest of his Sight begin to close and blink away, to push back under his skin, hiding, waiting. Jon shudders slightly at the sensation, but is too exhausted to muster much more. He feels now sore and broken, the high of his euphoria bleeding away to throbbing pain, and as the final eye sinks beneath his skin Jon is sightless again behind the still-tied blindfold.

Hands reach behind his head to work at the knot, and for the first time in a long while Jon blinks open his eyes to see Elias before him, tired and smiling. “These should be healed by tomorrow,” he says, dragging light hands along the cuts in Jon’s chest, “but I’m hoping at least a few will scar.”

Jon blinks, and thinks for a moment, and realizes he hopes the same.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "carve a name" by mother mother which SLAPS and is also PERFECT for this.


End file.
